“The first thing to do,” he said, “is to climb up on the plane and hoist a signal of distress. So we’ll catch a ship, if one goes past. If you’ll get me something to put....”
He glanced shyly at the girls. As they were both in khaki flying-suits, there was no chance of using a white skirt or petticoat, as he had so often read of, in books about ship-wreck. But Linda immediately procured a large square of canvas which she kept on hand for repair, and he did the climbing at once.
When he came down again, he produced the fishing-line which he had improvised that morning and set about to try to catch a fish. Linda spent her time inspecting the plane, and Dot went about gathering underbrush for a fire, in case Chase was lucky enough to secure a catch.
Each of the three had taken a deep drink of water, resolutely trying to stave off their hunger by that means.
An hour passed, and another, without any sign of a boat, and the girls began to wonder whether they would have to spend the night on this tiny island, without any food. They were sitting back on the beach, near to the autogiro, talking a little, and searching the waters often with the glasses for the sight of a ship. The sun was already low against the horizon.
“I wonder how far we are from the peninsula,” remarked Dot. “Maybe we could swim.”
“Not on an empty stomach,” returned Linda. “Besides, we must be pretty far. According to my figures.... Oh, look, Dot!” She jumped gaily to her feet.
“What! A boat?” cried her companion.
“No. Only Bert—with a fish! But it surely does look good.”
“Light your fire, Dot!” the young man called as he approached. “The fish is cleaned—all ready to fry.”